


Sherlollipops - In The Nature Of An Experiment

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [72]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sherlolly - Freeform, Smut, Virgin Sherlock, smutty fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:58:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3595461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hmm. Interesting. So kissing supposedly stops the noise in your mind and produces peaceful feelings due to oxytocin, does it? An experiment worth pursuing, but with who? (As if you didn't know...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - In The Nature Of An Experiment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nocturnias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnias/gifts).



Hmm. Interesting. So kissing supposedly stops the noise in your mind and produces peaceful feelings due to oxytocin, does it? An experiment worth pursuing, but with who? John? No, no, no, John’s married and Mary would take exception and when Mary takes exception people tend to get shot. Lestrade? No, ridiculous, Graham would punch him. So would John, now that he thinks about it. And Sally Donovan as well. Further research is indicated….ah, yes. Definitely what is classified as ‘romantic kissing’ so no forehead kisses, cheek kisses or even chaste lip kisses. And kissing one’s brother on the mouth…ugh, absolutely not. No, what’s called for is what John would no doubt call a ‘full-on snog’ and he finally knows exactly who to call on for this particular experiment. Although calling it an experiment to her might be detrimental to his health since Molly is just as likely to hit him as Gavin or John if she feels she’s being used or disregarded.

No, wait, he DOES have to call it an experiment up front and to her face so she understands he isn’t asking to kiss her because of anything as ridiculous as sentiment or – he shudders – _feelings_. Molly knows she counts, that he cares for her as much as he does John and Mary; she’ll understand that he just needs to see if this claim he’s found on the internet actually has any merit. Anything to still his mind that doesn’t involve drugs or the Work is a good thing, and Molly certainly hates when he’s on drugs, empirical evidence has emphatically shown that, and he can’t MAKE the Work show up, it comes when it comes.

He nods decisively and heads for the morgue. She’s working the overnight shift so no one will be around and even though she might object to the location she certainly can’t object based on the chance of someone walking in on them. He hesitates as he dons his coat and scarf; should he text her, warn her that he’s on his way? No, stupid, of course not; he’s never done so before so why start now? The faint voice of his conscience, sounding as always like John Watson, rumbles something about that being Not Good but he ignores it in favor of behaving as he always does when he needs to perform an experiment at Bart’s, and that’s all this is: an experiment.

He’s certainly not doing it because he _wants_ to kiss Molly Hooper, of course he isn’t, he scoffs as he hurries down the steps and hails the first passing cab he sees. The anticipation he feels at the prospect of tasting her soft mouth, pressing his lips to hers, is simply due to the fact that he’s got something to occupy his time and his mind, an experiment to perform that has some potential future benefits, that’s all. The image of Molly from That Christmas flashes unwanted into his mind, escaping from the room where he’s tried – mostly unsuccessfully – shove all his memories of her that have nothing to do with their friendship or professional relationship.

Ugh, that word. _Relationship_. As if it’s the password to unlock Molly’s room every memory of her he’s carefully stored away, even the unwanted ones, come tumbling out like a pile of…of puppies gamboling on the lawn. Molly asking him for coffee. Molly performing an autopsy while he watches for the first time and unwillingly finds himself impressed by her technique and precision. Molly introducing him to her new boyfriend, ‘Jim from IT’. Molly taking off her coat at his flat That Christmas and revealing her slinkily dressed self. Molly slapping him for taking drugs during the Magnussen case, Molly, Molly, Molly…he is lost in memories of every shape and size, good and not so good, and is startled when the driver announces that they’ve arrived.

He pays the man and hops out of the cab, bee-lining for the morgue, where he calculates Molly will be. She’s not and he stops short at the sight of the empty room, then mentally smacks himself, grimacing as he reverses his steps and makes his way to the path lab.

She’s there, seated behind a microscope, and he tries to ignore the clammy sweat on his palms as he pushes open the door he’s unlocked with his stolen pass. Molly glances up in surprise and he pastes a smile on his face as he strides confidently over to her and sits at the microscope next to hers. “Ah, Molly, there you are,” he says, wincing inwardly at the obviousness of his words and the false heartiness in his voice. “I have an experiment I need to perform,” he hurries on, knowing he’s speaking to fast and that she can tell something’s up – her brow is wrinkled and she’s wearing a little half-frown on her lips. Lips that he once said looked too small without lipstick and yes, it’s true, but looking too small and being too small are two different things and the only way he’ll know for sure about their size is to feel them beneath his and he…

His brain stutters to a halt, as do his rambling words when Molly grabs his face in both hands and presses her lips to his. He blinks rapidly, trying to think; has he told her why he’s come, what the nature of the experiment is, or has she simply deduced him as she’s done so many times before? But that kiss was far too brief for him to have retained any kind of useful impression, which means he really needs to kiss her again, unless she doesn’t want him to? “Molly, what…” he splutters as she pulls her mouth away from his and drops her hands to her sides.

She looks away from him, her cheeks flushed a becoming shade of pink. “Sorry!” she warbles, her voice too high and strained. “I just…Sherlock you just wouldn’t shut up and you wouldn’t get to the point and I just…sorry!” she says again, shaking her head and starting to rise. “Delete that, will you? I promise I will.”

“No!” he shouts, then clears his throat as she stares at him, those big brown eyes of her wide with confusion. “No,” he says in a normal tone of voice, straining to keep it that way as he reaches out and tentatively grasps her wrist. “I want…that’s why I came here, to see if it was true.”

“To see if what was true?” Molly still sounds confused but her expression has cleared and there’s the ghost of smile hovering over her lips and since he wants that ghost to fully manifest he leans forward and brushes his lips against hers.

“To see if kissing really does stop the noise in one’s mind,” he says huskily when he pulls his mouth – very reluctantly – from hers. He rests their foreheads together and notes absently that they’re both breathing very rapidly. One finger lowers to her pulse and finds it jumping in her throat, just as his is. “It was supposed to be an experiment,” he tries to explain, only to find that Molly is smiling knowingly at him as she gently extricates herself from his hold and meets his gaze with the steadiness he’s always lov…er, enjoyed.

“So you read up on kissing and wanted to see if it was true,” she says, stating the obvious, but all he does is nod dumbly and continue to meet her gaze. One hand moves of its own volition to clutch at hers and she allows it, the ghost of a smile fully manifest now and…uh oh, he knows that particular smile, he’s in for it, what’s she going to… “Well, you could have kissed anyone and found out if it was true or not,” she says, her voice very serious but her eyes, oh her eyes are teasing him, dancing with restrained mirth. “You could have kissed John, for example.”

“Don’t want to kiss John,” he mumbles, lower lip stuck out in a very childish pout. He crosses his arms and turns his head away. “Only want to kiss you.”

“Oh, only me? Not much of an experiment if you’re only going to test it on one subject,” Molly says, and now her voice is teasing but her hands have reached out and gently turned him to face her so he can forgive her that, as long as she keeps touching him. “Sherlock, what’s this about, then?”

The teasing is gone from both her voice and her eyes, seriousness replacing them as he once again meets her gaze. “This is about…you,” he finally admits on an exhaled breath. “You and me. Us.”

Her fingers gently stroke his cheeks and his eyes flutter shut at the pleasure such a simple touch evokes. “You and me?” she repeats softly. “Us? Is there an us, Sherlock? A ‘not just friends’ us? Is that what you want?”

He nods, unashamed of the wash of sentiment that pours over him. “Yes,” he says, not wanting there to be any misunderstandings between them. “I want there to be an us. An us with kissing and sex and living together and maybe even marr…”

He’s silenced by her lips on his again, and she’s pulling him close and his arms automatically fold around her and she’s soft and warm and everything he’s ever wanted and didn’t know he needed until this very moment. He tentatively slips his tongue between his lips and her mouth opens beneath his and every thought in his brain goes flying out and his mind is utterly, blissfully still as he feels her tongue against his.

They continue like this for approximately, oh, two or three lifetimes, then Molly pulls her mouth away and takes a deep, deep breath. He realizes that breathing might be boring but it is certainly a necessity and does the same. His cheeks feel warm and certain parts of his body that are normally, er, _normal_ …dormant, even…are warming up as well and he can see that Molly’s nipples have become rather noticeable beneath her blouse – she’s not wearing a jumper today and her lab coat is open and suddenly the idea of simply ending with kissing her is the most ludicrous idea he’s ever had and before he realizes what he’s doing his hands are on her breasts.

Just as he starts to panic that he’s moving too fast he hears Molly’s low chuckle and his eyes fly up to meet hers, seeing them crinkled at the corner with mirth. “So, now that you’ve got some empirical evidence, do you still think I have anything to compensate for?” 

She’s smirking and he understands that she’s teasing him to show that the sting of his harsh, long-ago words have faded, but he feels a flush of shame and starts to remove his hands and stutter out an apology. Molly grabs his wrists and keeps his hands firmly on her breasts, however, making a tutting sound and slowly shaking her head in mock-disappointment. “Really, Sherlock? Can’t you deduce me right now?” She squeezes his hands and he follows suit, squeezing her (really perfectly sized and shaped) breasts and listens as she lets out a low exhalation that stops just short of being a moan.

He wants to feel her lips against his while his hands are holding her breasts and so he leans forward and kisses her. As his tongue teases her lips open he experiments a bit with his touch, brushing his thumbs over the hard nubs of her nipples. She actually moans this time and he feels smug, knowing that he’s the reason she’s making that lovely sound, the one that seems to go straight to his groin. He was half-hard already, and now he’s got an erection that feels as if it might actually burst through the fabric of his pants and trousers, and so he moans right back at her. He gropes for her hand, drawing it down to where he most wants to be touched and she willingly allows him to guide her.

Her hands are small but he’s seen them handle heavy bone saws with confidence, seen her lift and turn corpses when necessary, and so it’s no surprise that her grip is firm and steady on his cock. (Wait, what? When did he start thinking in such plebian terms? Her hand tightens and strokes a bit and ahhhh… _that’s_ when.) “Do that again,” he gasps, his hands getting bolder on her breasts, pinching her nipples through the thin fabric of her colorful blouse and the lacy bra he can feel underneath.

She does as he asks, her other hand stroking the back of his neck and eventually moving up so that her fingers are tangled in his curls and his brain is all sorts of not-working and he glories in the sensation. If kissing can shut the brain down apparently sex does an even better job and he’s very, very eager to bring this so-called experiment to its logical conclusion. 

Molly, it appears, agrees with him; she’s undoing the button and zip to his trousers and kissing him with what feels like desperation as he starts fumbling the buttons to her blouse. He’s not usually this clumsy but apparently when a woman you fancy has her hands on your cock and her tongue down your throat you lose a bit of coordination.

Before he knows it they’ve both become completely naked under the eyes of God (if he exists) and the CCTV cameras (which definitely exist). Knowing his brother’s propensity for watching him in public places, Sherlock spares a moment to shoot a sardonic grin at the one in the nearest corner before turning his attention back to the lovely lapful of Molly Hooper he’s suddenly acquired. Her arms are around his shoulders and her mouth is still on his and her sex is sliding wetly against his hard, hard cock and he moans as she reaches down and takes him in her firm, steady grasp yet again.

When she rises he makes a sound of protest deep in his throat; she give a soft chuckle and runs soothing fingers down the back of his head and neck until he recognizes her intent and eagerly grasps her by the hips. He lifts her, watching as she settles herself over his cock. “Sherlock, are you sure?” she asks as she hesitates, sounding both breathless and uncertain.

“Yes, yes,” he says impatiently, then looks up to meet her gaze, to let her see how very much he wants this, wants all of it. “I want this, Molly. I want you, I told you that and I meant it. No Janining,” he adds in belated worry that she thinks he’s just using her, that the ‘experiment’ is nothing more than that. “No case, no faking it, no drugs…”

He’s silenced by her lips on his, feverish and wanting and then she’s sliding down onto him, his cock deep inside her welcoming warmth and once again all coherent thoughts flee. His transport has never been serviced like this, his machinery is very well lubed and… _fuck it,_ he thinks, shoving those ludicrous inhuman analogies aside. He’s not a machine, he’s a human being, a man with an incredibly sexy woman riding him, lifting herself up and then lowering herself back down with her feet on the lowest rungs of the lab stool on which he’s perched and he needs to help her, not only because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do but because he wants to participate to the fullest. His role as observer of the human condition is now past him; he’s moved on to full participant in all life has to offer and he couldn’t be happier about the change.

“Molly,” he gasps, drawing out the syllables of her name as her hands clench on his shoulders and his fingers dig into her hips. He’ll leave bruises, he can tell, but he can also tell right now she couldn’t care less. Her lower lip is between her teeth and her eyes are shut tight; she’s sweating and trembling and the tiny part of his brain that stubbornly insists on observing notes that she appears to be very close to orgasm. He slides one hand around to knead her ass and the thumb of the other hand lowers over her clit (he’s read about that particular part of the female anatomy and understands its importance and has never understood why some men find it so difficult to deal with). She makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan, which he takes as a good sign and so continues to touch her there, feeling the tightening in his lower back and bollocks that means he’s just as close as she is.

She tightens around him and gasps out his name and that’s all it takes for him to join her. He’s heard orgasms described in many ways, but his own past experience (self-administered, admittedly) has been that it’s less of a falling than it is an explosion and this is no exception. Well, except that it’s better, so much better than simply using his own hand; witnessing Molly’s pleasure, experiencing it with her, seems to intensify his own. He’ll have to test that out the next time, back at her flat or his, wherever they end up at the end of her shift; no point in just using a single data point as a reference, after all!

As they wind down from their mutual orgasms, Molly gives him a suddenly awkward smile and he feels his heart sink. Oh no, did she not believe him, does she still think this is actually just an experiment? But her next words reassure him. “Oh, God, Sherlock, I can’t believe we just had sex in the path lab!” She gives a nervous laugh and gingerly removes herself from his sweat-streaked body. “If anyone had walked in…oh, and the cameras!” She looks up as she belatedly remembers their presence, then covers her face with her hands.

He reaches out and wraps his arms around her, holding her close and placing comforting kisses to the parts of her head that he can reach. “Don’t worry about the cameras, you know they’re on a 24-hour wipe. So unless the very unlikely event of a crime happens here in the next 24 hours, we’re safe. And no one’s likely to walk in here at this time of night, you know that. However…” He looks down at their nude forms critically. “I do think we might best clean up and get dressed. Are we going back to yours or mine when your shift ends?”

“Oh, um, I hadn’t actually thought of that,” she confesses as she starts to gather up her clothes. She looks around for her knickers, then snatches them from Sherlock when he holds them up with a smirk. “Um, mine, if you don’t mind? I’ll have to feed Toby and eat something myself and we both know you never have any food at yours.”

“Okay,” he agrees, accepting the hand towel she offers him and perfunctorily wiping himself down. They finish cleaning up in silence, exchanging the occasional smile, then pull on their clothes. While Molly disposes of the used hand towels in the nearest bin, Sherlock peers down into her microscope to see what she was studying when he interrupted her. “Skin cells,” he pronounces as she moves up to stand behind him. He kisses the hand she lays on his shoulder. “Tell me about the victim,” he says, and any potential uneasiness between them vanishes under the comfort of a well-known routine.

Later, back at Molly’s with Toby fed and the two of them nibbling on leftover Thai, he contemplates all the ways his life has changed in the last 24 hours…and he smiles. He’s lost nothing, even if he was technically a virgin, and gained everything.

Because that’s what Molly is to him: everything.


End file.
